Au clair de la Lune
by AmadErik
Summary: Five year old Erik is seriously ill, which fact briefly touches his Mother's heart. Leroux based.


Au clair de la Lune

Geneviéve was walking up and down in the salon, nervously cracking her fingers. She sent worried glances towards the window, trying to notice the Doctor before he reached the terrace. Will he arrive there ever? Why won't he come? Maybe he won't want to come here and examine the thing? That poor thing, that… God's creature.

The boy was ill. Very ill.

She hated him usually, but couldn't bear to see him in that condition. At first, she thought she will be able to cure him, by putting wet cloth on his forehead and ordering him to stay in bed. But nothing helped. His condition got worse and worse. His fever didn't break, he coughed, his eyes were turning red instead of yellow and some kind of rash appeared all over his body. No, it wasn't smallpox. He got that last year. This damned kid is always sick. He was nearly 5 years old and every damned month of the winter and fall he got some kind of infection. Either he has some nasal infection… God he doesn't even have a nose! Or the worst part is when he catches some kind of children's disease. How does he catch them at all, he doesn't go play with others? How could he? What a normal child would WANT to play with the thing? They would most certainly run away from him screaming for help, just as every normal person would. She would do it as well if some feeling she can't name wouldn't keep her here, chained to this little corpse forever.

\- Mo… Mother! – That indescribably angelic child voice urgently called to her.

He was nearly 4 years old when she finally heard a sentence full of sense from him, and only then she could hear what a sweet voice he had. She never thought such an ugly thing could have such a nice sounding voice.

With a deep sigh she hurried back to the bedroom where she left the small monster. He was laying in the large double bed of his parents, so he looked even smaller thinner and more helpless compared to his surroundings.

\- What is it now? – She peeked in.

\- I am not feeling well. – He whined softly, reaching out for her.

\- I know. – She nodded. – You have some kind of illness. I called the Doctor for you.

\- What is a Doctor? – He lifted his head up faintly, with a sudden interest.

\- A person who cures illnesses. He will make you feel better.

\- Will some other person… come to the house? – The boy seemed to be rather surprised upon hearing the news.

\- Yes.

\- And I have to go to the cellar? – His voice sounded sad and worn out at the same time.

\- No, boy, he comes to see you!

\- But you said… No one wanted to see me and no one should.

\- You ask too many questions. Didn't you say you were sick?

\- I am. I am very sick, mother. – He nodded and closed his eyes.

\- Sleep then. – She ordered, but a bit of kinder, she added. – That helps.

\- Mother… won't you please… hold my hand? Please.

\- We have to make sure you are not contagious. – Geneviéve stated. – Then I… might.

\- Mother…

\- I have to feed the animals. – Geneviéve left the room as fast as she could, not looking back at the direction of her praying son.

He does this thing again. He prays for her touch. Oh but if only he wasn't so unbearably ugly and cold most of the time… then she would touch him. She would pick him up and cradle him in her arms if he was a child. But this… this… pitiful excuse of a human being… was just too ugly to be held and caressed.

She could hear some nasty coughs and some painful sobs, then a cry for help.

She did not want to turn around. She took a few steps hurriedly towards the stairs to run downstairs, but the boy cried out again. Was he so sick? God, will he maybe die? Not now, please not now… the doctor didn't even arrive yet. You can't die… Last night he nearly died. He started choking in the middle of the night, which is the main reason she picked him up from his own bed and hurried to the master bedroom and lay him in the double bed there to be able to check on his breathing later as the seizure finally stopped. She slept on the couch in the corner for the rest of the night, however there was enough room for her as well, but she did not want to accidentally touch the boy while sleeping. He was thankfully too sick and too much worn out to use the situation and climb out of bed and pester her during the night.

She hurried back to the room where she found the boy choking again.

\- God… breathe… try to breathe, boy!

\- Mother… - He wheezed. – Please…

\- What is that? What do you need?

\- The… mask… please… remove…

 _Please remove the mask._

The words echoed in her ears for some seconds, and she was staring at the wheezing little thing, struggling for breath, trying his best to stay alive. She knew the mask most certainly made it harder for him to breathe as it covered both his horrible mouth and the lack of his nose. He would make some occasional wheezing from time to time with the mask on, even if he was healthy. But exposing his horrible skull face, especially in such a well – lit room… at broad daylight! As he is ill, his face must be pale and he sure looks even more horrifying than at any other time. But… this is a five year- old seriously ill child, who maybe was at his last gasp… she should make his suffering more bearable. She is his mother, despite everything. At least she could show some compassion and sympathy right at that time.

With trembling hands, she reached out for the small head, and hesitantly put her palm under his neck to lift his head from the pillows a bit. He wasn't cold. He was hot. With her other hand she slowly slipped the white cloth from the child's face who took a few deeper breaths as the fabric wasn't already covering his mouth. She tried to look away as the boy's face was shown to her, but for some reason, she couldn't turn her face away from him. Not now.

\- Is it better like this? – She asked softly, after some minutes, when the child was breathing more evenly.

\- Yes… thank you Mother… I knew… you will help me.

\- Oh… I had to.

\- You always help. – He looked at her with such an adoration in his bloodshot yellow eyes that she couldn't help but smile at him, even if he wasn't wearing the mask. He did look ugly for sure. But it seemed to matter less.

\- Do you want me to sing a song for you so you will be able to sleep? – Geneviéve asked comfortingly. She knew her son loved music, he was already extremely talented at playing the piano.

\- You… never sang… before… Mother. Can you sing? – He looked up with eagerness and he smiled with those malformed lips of his.

\- I am not a trained singer. – She admitted. – But I liked to sing… before…

\- Before what? – He asked curiously.

 _Before you were born._ She thought to herself, but did not say any other word. She sat down at the edge of the bed, placed her hand on the boy's burning up forehead to check on his temperature, but after to her biggest surprise she held the boy's bony skeletal hand. He sighed contently and closed his eyes. The woman started singing an old French children's song to the boy for the first time in his life. Her nice sounding soprano voice filled up the room as the simple song soothingly lulled the ill boy to sleep.

Au clair de la lune

Mon ami Pierrot

Prête-moi ta plume

Pour écrire un mot

Ma chandelle est morte

Je n'ai plus de feu

Ouvre-moi ta porte

Pour l'amour de Dieu

Au clair de la lune

Pierrot répondit:

Je n'ai pas de plume

Je suis dans mon lit

Va chez la voisine

Je crois qu'elle y est

Car dans sa cuisine

On bat le briquet

Au clair de la lune

L'aimable Lubin

Frappe chez la brune

Qui répond soudain

Qui frapp' de la sorte

Il dit à son tour

Ouvrez votre porte

Au dieu de l'amour

Au clair de la lune

On n'y voit qu'un peu

On chercha la plume

On chercha du feu

En cherchant d' la sorte

Je n' sais c' qu'on trouva

Mais je sais qu' la porte

Sur eux se ferma.

When the boy finally fell asleep, she heard some loud knocks on the front door which, of course, woke the boy up instantly. He startled up and sat up straight in horror, looking at Geneviéve with a confused expression.

\- Now will you take me to the cellar? – He asked. – I can't get up… I am sleepy…

\- No. Just lay back down. Be quiet and don't be afraid. It must be the Doctor. I will be right back.

Geneviéve hurried downstairs to answer the door. She heard another loud bangs when she opened it, and saw the village Doctor standing on the doorway.

\- Good afternoon, Doctor… - She started stutteringly. – My son is very ill, and…

\- Is that the monster? – The doctor asked, without even saying "Bonjour".

\- It is my son. – She repeated drily.

Surprisingly she called the boy a monster most of the time, but it hurt her feelings when the doctor used the exact same word to describe him.

\- What is his problem? – He asked with a hint of disgust in his voice.

\- Follow me and see it for yourself. – She moaned, leading the doctor to the bedroom.

The man did not want to approach the bed within a five feet radius when he saw that monstrous face. It was just a sick child and he was afraid of him like if he was a demon. When he noticed the removed mask on the nightstand, he pointed at it and asked:

\- Is that for… _it_?

\- Yes, it is. – Geneviéve admitted softly.

\- Maybe if you cover its face it will be easier for me to examine what the problem might be.

\- He started choking when I put it on him the last time… couldn't you just…

\- It will survive. – The doctor shook his face, indicating he won't touch the thing without the mask on.

Geneviéve couldn't blame him. She couldn't stomach to look at the boy either, how did she expect it from a stranger then? She stepped next to the bed and put the mask back on the nearly unconscious boy's face, but for the very first time, she was crying and whispered "I am sorry" to him.

The doctor finally walked closer and examined the boy with the least touching possible, then only stated:

\- It's rubeola. – Then he walked away from the bed, sending a disgusted glance back at the boy.

He briefly told the mother what to do and how to cure the son all by herself. He did not promise he would ever return to check on him, then he left.

Geneviéve sat back on the bedside, and removed the mask away from her son's face and whispered.

\- I am sorry.

\- You… always… help… - The boy gave a faint smile then softly hummed the melody he heard from his mother for the first time in his life.

As Geneviéve realized what her son was trying to sing, she started silently crying before she rose up from the bed to leave and bring some cool water to finally break the boy's fever.


End file.
